Operation Bellarke
by gtgrandom
Summary: A cuddle fic full of sin. Bellarke.
1. Happy Accident

Clarke knew she was screwed the moment she opened the door.

For one, all of her friends were glaring at her for being late for movie night. Again. But it wasn't her fault she had a demanding job…not entirely.

Secondly, there were no empty seats on the sofa arrangement. Raven crashed next to Jasper and Monty, Miller had snagged the bean bag chair, and Lincoln and Octavia took the loveseat. Bellamy sprawled out on the side comforter, looking quite pleased with himself. It was Jasper and Monty's house this week for some suspicious reason, even though the carpet had just been ripped up, soon to be replaced with hardwood.

So sitting on the floor was out too.

"Clarke stop standing there looking so desolate and sit down," Jasper muttered, pressing play on the remote.

She glared at him, but then Bellamy smiled at her and gestured for her to join him.

She didn't know how she was supposed to do that exactly, so as she sat down, she just took the liberty of scooting back against his chest, his legs on either side of her. He wasn't particularly soft or squishy, so it took some careful wriggling to get it just right.

"Comfortable?" he asked dryly, though she could hear the smile on his lips.

"It'll do."

He chuckled and leaned back, and she forced herself to ignore the stifled titters around her.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Okay.

Bellamy was fine.

He was totally fine.

Completely.

Sort of.

He only had the girl he'd been in love with for two years pressed against him, her head resting on his chest, the scent of vanilla and something earthy wafting up to his nose.

He was pretty much an expert on repressing his feelings. He had to be. Clarke was his best friend. She had been ever since she'd taken his case and proved his innocence to the court. Or really, ever since she first walked into that interrogation room, frowning at him.

And of course, they'd hugged before, and she'd kissed him on the cheek once.

But snuggling?

That was something entirely new.

Not that he minded having her close. Her presence was always reassuring, and touching her, feeling her there beside him provided a constant in his life that he desperately needed.

The movie, _Fight Club_ —Jasper and Monty's absolute favorite—was drawing out now. Bellamy had seen it too many times, and it was sort of giving him a headache.

Clarke shuddered suddenly, and he glanced down at the blonde tussles of hair.

It happened again.

She was shivering.

Bellamy didn't ask. Didn't think. He simply brought his arms out from beside him and wrapped them around her. He heard her sigh, and she shifted closer, if that was even possible.

Okay. There was definitely too much skin to skin contact right now. She was so fucking soft. What gave her the right?

He briefly noticed Octavia's face light up with the brightness of a text notification, followed closely by Octavia, and then Miller.

He looked away before they caught him glowering.

* * *

OoO

* * *

The movie was five minutes from ending, and most of their party had passed out by now.

Movie nights were hard on the crew. Everyone got off late, or had a million responsibilities, like Clarke, and by the time everyone had settled down, it was usually close to one in the morning.

And after a three hour movie no one usually made it. Except Jasper and Monty.

Clarke had fallen asleep somewhere along the way, and she moaned slightly, turning her head.

Bellamy swallowed.

The movement had just exposed her neck to him—her collarbone, her shoulder.

What the fuck. It was winter. Where was her turtle neck? Her scarf?

He tried to focus back on the movie, but every couple seconds, his eyes fell back to her skin, the nape of her neck.

Since when did he have a neck fetish?

As the end scene started rolling, he lost control.

He bent forward, and he pressed his lips to the space between neck and shoulder.

He felt her tense against him, and he quickly diminished the contact, horrified.

"Sorry," he whispered hoarsely. Fuck. What was wrong with him? You couldn't just go kissing your best friend. Especially not when she was fucking sleeping!

After a pause, she pulled his arms tighter around her. "Don't stop."

He stared at the back of her head.

Did she just say what he thought she said? He had to be delusional.

But her hands didn't slacken.

Tentatively, he kissed her again, a little higher, a little longer, and she exhaled, straining her neck for more.

He kissed her once more at the base of her neck, sucking a little this time, and she dug her nails into his arm.

His heart was drop-kicking the shit out of his ribcage, but for once he didn't care if she could feel it.

He placed a butterfly kiss at her pulse point, brushing his nose against her softness, breathing in her scent.

Then the credits started rolling, and Jasper and Monty cheered, and he was grateful for the darkness to cover his flushed face and the marks on Clarke's skin.

Neither of them moved, as if both were too terrified to make eye contact after what had just occurred.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"You two got pretty cozy," Raven noted, waggling her eyebrows. She had been asleep just moments before, so Bellamy was pretty confident she hadn't seen anything.

But still, the comment sent off panic alarms.

"Clarke's a human body pillow," he managed, trying diffuse the tension.

He still hadn't let her go. And she still hadn't pulled away.

Clarke laughed quietly, and the tremor vibrated into his chest.

"Well…that was fun," Miller groaned. "Maybe next week we can watch something we haven't all seen a million times."

"It's the girls' pick next week," Monty supplied. "You all know what that means."

Octavia smiled evilly from the loveseat, and Bellamy tried not to burn holes into Lincoln's arm draped around his baby sister.

Everyone slowly got to their feet, fishing for keys and wallets.

Jasper quirked an eyebrow, wagging his finger at Bellamy and Clarke.

"Are you two just going to stay there? I mean, go ahead by all means, but…"

Bellamy's heart started going spaztic again, and he finally squeezed Clarke's shoulders. "Any day now, Princess."

Clarke shook her head, exasperated, and sat forward, unthreading herself from his body.

She ran her hand through her hair, smiling up at Jasper and the others. Finally, she turned her gaze to him.

No nervousness. No signs of anger or distress or fear. Just a small, reserved smile.

Had that all just been…friend status to her? Because he certainly did not kiss Miller's neck and cradle him in his arms for over three hours.

But to Clarke, maybe that was all it'd been; hopscotching over boundaries. Or maybe she thought she'd been dreaming.

Or maybe, he thought hopefully, maybe she was as good as repressing her emotions as he was.

* * *

OoO

* * *

As soon as everyone had left the house, Monty grinned at the group message on his phone.

 **Raven:** Operation BELLARKE is a go.

* * *

 **THIS IS GOING TO BE SO FUN.**


	2. Tease

The next time, Bellamy decided he was going to get there extra early, so he could take a normal seat on the couch and avoid Clarke as much as possible.

They'd been texting as usual over the past week, but it was different from seeing her in person.

A lot fucking different.

He just needed some physical distance form her for a while, so things could go back to the way they were.

He wanted that normalcy.

…Right?

When he arrived, however, everyone was already gleefully present, besides Clarke.

"I thought this was at twelve?" he said a little curtly.

"Yeah, but we all had nothing better to do so we got here at 11:30. Like you," Miller answered, lips pulled up into a knowing smirk.

It was very similar to their last arrangement, only two seats were still available on the sofa next to Miller.

Bellamy frowned at them. "What's the deal? Why are O and Lincoln on the ground?"

"We figured we'd give you and Clarke the couch this time, since you had to share last week," Octavia replied with a completely straight face.

He glared at his friends.

They were up to something, he was sure, but he lacked the energy to pry.

"Where's Clarke?" he asked to curb his uneasiness.

"Wouldn't you want to know?" Octavia chuckled, and he ignored her to the best of his ability.

"Shower," Raven replied from her reclining armchair.

Bellamy bit his cheek, setting his keys down on the coffee table. He bent down so only Miller could hear him. "You need to scoot over."

"Why?"

"Just do it. I need to sit here."

"Sit over there."

"Miller…"

"What? If you wanted this seat you should have gotten here earlier."

"I _did_."

Miller merely smiled and crossed his arms, so Bellamy clenched his jaw and took a seat on the far end of the couch. Maybe he'd get lucky and Clarke would never come out of the bathroom.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Clarke pulled on some pajama shorts and a tank top, drying her hair a little too aggressively.

She couldn't seem to push the image of Bellamy Blake kissing her out of her head.

She didn't know what had brought that on. If he'd been so exhausted he'd hallucinated into thinking she was someone else. If he'd expected it to lead somewhere. If he'd just been horny.

Bellamy had never made an advance on her before. Well, not since he first raked his eyes over her when she'd agreed to be his lawyer.

But since then, they'd been friends, the best of friends.

And then he'd gone and grazed his lips against her shoulder and what had she done?

She'd encouraged him to keep going.

What the hell?

What was wrong with her? She didn't want a friends with benefits relationship with Bellamy! She wanted…she wanted….

They needed boundaries. They had boundaries. He knew that. They both did.

Besides, she couldn't afford to feel that way with him. Everyone she fell in love with she broke…or they left before she could. She couldn't lose Bellamy. Not to awkwardness. Not to heartbreak. Never.

But, her conscience pressed, what if he was the _one_? What if he actually felt something, and this wasn't the past fuckboy resurfacing?

And did she not enjoy the feeling of his warmth? The wet trail of his kisses? The little nudge of his nose right before their moment had been ripped away?

"Clarke did you drown? Let's go!" Raven called from the living room.

Clarke blanched, her frantic thoughts spiraling off in a million directions. _Fuck_.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy tried to ignore Clarke's entrance, her wide eyes, her awkward shuffle to the seat next to him.

"I swear it's like they're doing this on purpose," she murmured, and Bellamy's lip twitched upward.

Their friends did seem to be paying close attention to the exchange.

"Let the horror begin, gentlemen," Raven beamed, snapping off the lights.

Bellamy sensed Clarke moving imperceptibly closer, and he knew Horror Night would reach an entirely new level of apprehension+.

Clarke didn't mean for it to happen.

Bellamy was just…there.

So she couldn't help herself when the phantom appeared in the mirror and she buried her face into his side.

Bellamy stilled, and she swore silently.

But then another scream filled the air, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly, looking away.

"I'm sorry, just ignore me," she muttered into his shirt.

"That's kind of hard," he whispered after a moment, draping his arm around her shoulders like the protective shield he was.

She exhaled shakily, grateful for his presence. She wasn't really scared of horror movies. Just the cinematography—the abrupt noises and faces popping up in mirrors. She could handle gore and ghosts, just not the ones jumping out at her every five seconds. Honestly, turn the hype down a notch.

"What's the point of watching this if your eyes are closed the whole time?" Bellamy asked her, grip tight and warm and safe.

"I'm only doing this for Raven," she mumbled, and he laughed.

"Here, you can hide behind this," he said, yanking a blanket from the pile to his right and tossing it over her.

She had the inkling she was blushing.

* * *

OoO

* * *

At one point in the movie, Clarke was practically on top of Bellamy, her knees curled over his lap.

The couch wasn't wide enough for that position though, so as she started to slip off the cushions, Bellamy's right hand caught her behind one knee and kept her up.

Now she could hardly pay the movie any attention—her only focus on Bellamy's warm, unmoving hand against her bare skin.

Of course, they've had physical contact before. He's tickled her relentlessly, hands digging under her shirt. He's grabbed hold of her during beach volleyball, when she was in her bathing suit.

But this, under the cover of the blanket, was different.

It wasn't teasing. It wasn't urgent or fearful.

It was new.

And it caused her heart to race.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy didn't know how he'd gotten here again.

Were the fates having an absolute blast ruining his life?

Because fuck them.

One of his hands held Clarke's bare shoulder securely, the other pinned her to him by the back of her leg.

He could smell her again, only this time she smelled like coconut and strawberry shampoo and he was slowly but surely losing his mind.

Cautiously, Clarke turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were curious, slightly embarrassed, but…

She bit her lip, and the only way he could describe it was _sensual_.

He had to be mistaken. But that face…

He'd seen her look at Finn like that once. And Lexa.

Was she flirting with him? Clarke Griffin, flirting with _him?_

He must have looked conflicted, because she smiled warmly.

He thought he just imagined the whole thing, but then the hand that wasn't wrapped around his neck found his chest, and nervous fingers splayed out over the lettering of his shirt.

He needed one of those BULLSHIT buttons, only it would say, WHAT THE FUCK, CLARKE?

She trailed her concealed hand down to his abs, then under the hem of his shirt and back up.

Bellamy couldn't breathe. Clarke was still watching him, but his eyes were rooted to the television, even though he had no idea what was occurring in the plot at this point.

Her bare hand rubbed against his skin softly, nails hardly scratching, like a tease.

Which…was what this was, wasn't it?

She was just toying with him, to see how he reacted. It was all a game to her.

His stomach coiled with something acrid and painful, but he turned it into competitiveness instead.

Fine. She wanted a game?

He wasn't going to sit on the sidelines.

* * *

OoO

* * *

He removed his eyes from the movie and settled them on hers. She seemed slightly startled at the action, and even more so when his hand began to boldly slide up the back of her thigh.

Her own hand paused in its caress, and she gaped at him.

Then, a moment later, she closed her eyes and _smiled_.

His hands were calloused, rough, and grease-stained most of the time. Yet, as he slowly traced his fingers up and down, sliding his palm further, confident yet tentative, she was falling apart in front of him.

For once in her life, Clarke Griffin was weak.

And it was all because of him.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy's hand never rose past her shorts, but it didn't need to.

She was putty in his hands, and he goddamn knew it.

They were both pretending to be engrossed in the movie, for their friends' sake. But beneath the blanket, she had Bellamy's full attention, and he had hers.

At one point, his hand crossed to her inner thigh, and she may have whimpered.

He chuckled silently, and she refused to give him the satisfaction.

She was about to delve into a little more daring when the blanket was suddenly snatched away.

Hands were retracted at expert speed.

But perhaps not quick enough.

Raven grinned. "Mom and Dad are getting freaky under the blanket, guys."

Clarke and Bellamy both released shouts of indignation over their friends' laughter.

"What the hell, Miller?" Bellamy snapped, his roommate wrapping himself up in their blanket.

 _Delinquent_.

Miller shrugged. "What, Clarke's not even cold. And she's got you to cower behind."

* * *

The two of them watched the rest of the movie without touching, staring straight ahead.

But Clarke's skin still tingled at the feeling of Bellamy's toned muscles beneath the pads of her fingers.

* * *

 **It's getting freaky guys ;)**


	3. Pretend

"We're just gonna pile up in Monty's."

"All six of us?" Bellamy mumbled.

"Like you've never stacked a minivan before," Jasper scoffed as he motioned for them to enter the backseat.

"Fine, but Octavia gets a seat-belt," Bellamy said, and the group chuckled.

Jasper crawled into the back behind Monty's seat, followed closely by Raven, and Bellamy's gut plummeted.

Fuck no.

"This is stupid. Clarke and I can just take another car," he said, hoping his voice didn't shake.

Clarke nodded beside him.

"Uh, that would defeat the purpose of club night."

"Not really."

"Then one of you would have to DD."

"I'm comfortable with that."

"Just get in, Bellamy. Clarke will be fine. She can just sit on your lap, right?" Octavia offered from the front, eyeing him dangerously.

Normally, Bellamy would be fine with it. But not tonight. Not after their last few encounters.

He understood Clarke, maybe better than anyone. How her brain worked. What her eyes said when her mouth didn't. He understood that whatever was happening between them—whatever the fuck they'd become—it was not up for discussion. Not yet.

If he behaved like it bothered him, acknowledged the awkwardness, then Clarke would too. And he couldn't have that.

So he stifled his confusion and conceded.

"Fine."

He seated himself in the backseat, glaring up at Clarke, who glared back unhappily.

"I call shotgun on the way home," Clarke muttered as she placed herself on Bellamy's lap.

Bellamy swallowed, attempting to ignore her ass and her scent and basically, this entire situation.

Clarke yanked the belt over her chest.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy cried, as the buckle gave a click and she was suddenly a lot closer, everything, a lot _tighter_.

"Not dying."

That was the least of his problems.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Shit."

"That sounded like an I-just-spotted-my-cheating-ex-boyfriend shit," Jasper laughed.

Clarke paled. They always made sure to check for the night's entertainment before choosing a club. How could this happen?

She shot a desperate look at Bellamy.

They'd done it before. They could pull it off again.

Immediately, he reached for her hand, and her fingers intertwined with his almost instinctively.

Finn's eyes flickered to the exchange, but it didn't deter him.

Nothing ever did.

"Does he really think we're still dating?" Bellamy whispered in her ear, pulling her to the edge of the club, where the smoke was hazy, and the music waned.

"Actually, now we're engaged," she explained.

Bellamy smiled, and she almost wished it wasn't a false statement.

She and Bellamy had been able to sway Finn's pursuit when they'd fake-dated at Thanksgiving. When she ran into her ex periodically, he'd always ask about Bellamy, and she'd always answer, having to step it up each encounter.

According to Clarke, he'd proposed last December.

Bellamy positioned them so that her back touched the wall, and he stood in front of her, heat blazing.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Blow his fucking mind," she said, though she could detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. Perhaps Bellamy did too.

There had never been anything real about these facades before. But now…it was different. Now they'd ventured, and she was lost where they stood.

Gently, Bellamy pushed her against the wall, and she raised her arms to his neck, pulling him closer. She felt a hot kiss on her collarbone and almost screamed. It was like before—passionate but reserved, confident but unsure. One of his hot hands rested on her hip, trailing up and up and up, and she was on fire.

She fisted his shirt in her hands, and her eyes caught sight of Finn staring at them, slack-jawed.

"Clarke," Finn choked.

Bellamy pulled away slightly, but only enough to give Clarke room to speak. He was a shield, and she wanted him at her side forever. Scary movie. Scary ex. Scary life. Whatever. She wanted Bellamy there.

"Now's…not a great time," she gasped, as Bellamy nipped her with his teeth.

The last time they'd tried to sway Finn, she'd simply kissed his cheek and he'd draped his arm over her shoulder, held her hand. This was a new level of intimate.

Finn swallowed, backing up slightly. He hadn't changed much since she'd seen him last—still the long, brown hair and gentle eyes. But a warped heart. "Band's playing here tonight. You should come backstage with us after the show. Say hi to the gang."

"I don't think…" she laughed into Bellamy's shoulder as he whispered something incredibly insulting. "I don't think I'll have time?"

Finn tried to look away from Bellamy's wandering hand.

"Clarke…" he said, as if he were about to apologize for the millionth time.

Apparently, Bellamy wasn't having it anymore. He pushed the door beside them open—the restroom—and hauled Clarke inside.

When the door shut, Clarke burst out laughing.

Bellamy was pissed. "Why the fuck won't he leave you alone? We're clearly engaged—"

"Clearly."

"—and he still goes for it? Is he insane? After what he did to Raven and you, the guy should—"

Clarke rested her hands against his chest, and he quieted.

"Thank you for being my fake future husband."

He grunted unhappily, and she stared up at him, grinning brightly.

At last he broke, matching her smile.

"The things I do for my fake future wife."

* * *

OoO

* * *

"I can't believe you actually planned the whole Finn thing," Jasper whispered.

Raven shrugged. "Did you see his face? And then Clarke and Bellamy's display? It was a win-win situation."

Monty swiveled in his bar seat. They'd hopped to a different club after Finn's 'sudden' appearance. Now Clarke and Bell could consume some hard liquor. Which of course, meant only good things.

"Do any of you guys feel bad about this?" Octavia wondered.

"You mean Operation Bell-Arke?" Jasper clarified.

"Yeah. I mean, we're sort of manipulating their relationship."

Monty shook his head. "No, we're manipulating the _rate_ of their relationship. We all know how they feel about each other. They're just wasting time waiting for the other to make a move. They need a nudge."

"That nudge meaning alcoholic beverages?" Octavia asked, a wry smile on her lips.

"Exactly."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy downed another shot. "So, now that we're engaged, do I finally get a say in how much butter we put in the popcorn at the movie theater?"

Clarke gaped at him. "Don't be ridiculous."

It seemed as though the awkwardness between them had died as the night progressed. Clarke had never been so thankful for anything in her life.

Yet she still tried to measure her consumption tonight. She didn't trust herself around Bellamy during a movie. She certainly didn't trust herself when she was shit-faced.

She was on her sixth shot when a girl caught sight of Bellamy and stumbled over.

"Are you drunk enough for a dance?" she asked him, and Clarke's hand paused over another shot of Kraken.

Please.

Bellamy Blake dancing? Not in this universe.

Bellamy glanced at Clarke, contemplative, them back to the eager girl. A small, sly grin lit his features. "Sure."

Clarke choked on the alcohol, watching as the girl dragged him towards the dance floor.

What just…

She'd asked him to dance with her so many times! What the hell.

She glared as the drunk woman began to grind up against Bellamy, who looked somewhere between amused and slightly terrified.

What the _hell._

"Um, I hate to tell you this, Clarke," Jasper murmured from beside her. "But your fiancé is dancing with another woman."

Clarke rolled her eyes, trying to find the hilarity of the situation like the rest of her friends. She tried to laugh as the girl moved Bellamy's hands back to her hips after he tried to retract them. Tried to snort when the song changed, and the two of them moved even closer.

But it wasn't coming.

Something was wrong, because two weeks ago she would be crying from laughter at the prospect of Bellamy dancing with some drunk woman in a club. But all she felt now was…pain.

She was about to seize another shot glass when Bellamy caught her eye.

 _Help me_ , he mouthed, begged.

And just like that, the unidentifiable pain evaporated.

"That's my cue," she said to the others, and she hopped off her stool, bounding for Bellamy.

She waited for the song to end, then she approached the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. "Mind if I have a turn?"

The girl smiled as she stumbled away, reaching for another man on her escapade.

"Thanks," Bellamy said, relaxing.

She nodded, turning back for the bar when he caught her hand.

"Can I dance with someone I actually want to dance with now?"

"I'm sure Miller would love to," she said, trying to mask her uncertainty.

"I'm not talking about Miller."

She quirked an eyebrow. Bellamy was asking her to dance? At what point had he been body swapped?

"I suppose we need to practice for the wedding," she joked, throat rather dry.

"My thoughts exactly," he said in return, brown eyes warm and brilliant.

She wasn't at the point of losing her coordination, but her mind was fuzzy and she felt like air. It was enough to get her to start moving when the next song came on.

At first they danced jokingly, facing one another. Clarke made a series of concentrated faces, which in turn caused her partner to burst out laughing. Bellamy twirled her around to the rap music, and the younger people around them regarded them warily.

Then the crowd began to condense, and she was pulled closer to Bellamy, turned around, so her back was to his chest, her arms on either side of her brushing other couples.

They were immersed in a sea of sounds and faces, disguised, and that's what gave her the courage.

She fished for one of Bellamy's hands, placing it at her hipbone, right beneath her shirt.

Then she began to move from side to side, waiting, hoping, praying that he would step in and join her.

He did.

She couldn't see his face. He couldn't see hers. But she could feel his chest, his jeans, his hot hands holding her close, yanking her back to him every time they swayed apart.

It wasn't anything scandalous, but it wasn't exactly modest.

There was heat in her abdomen churning at every touch, every graze.

As the beat dropped to a slower tempo, his hands slid down to the edges of her front pockets, and his mouth brushed her ear, the skin below it. She moved with him now, not against, and he nuzzled his nose into her neck.

She was sweaty and drunk and her hair had come undone, but Bellamy didn't seem to care. She placed her hands over his to keep him there, to keep hold of him before he disappeared.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the people around them, nor the mysterious boundaries that defined their friendship. She was his to hold. He was hers to keep.

In seconds the song would end, and so would this, and they'd go back to pretending.


	4. Vegas

**Sorry for the delay. I'm writing two other Bellarke stories lol.**

* * *

Octavia and Raven exchanged glances.

"Clarke, you want to talk about whatever's eating at you?" Raven asked.

The blonde stared at her coffee cup, silent and numb to her surroundings.

"Did we break her?" Octavia wondered.

"I think Bellamy might have, actually."

Clarke's eyes finally rose to her roommates. "What?"

The two girls sighed. "Clarke, we're not blind. You've been super touchy feely with Bell lately. And vice versa. What's going on? Are you hitting that?"

Clarke gaped, pulled from her reverie. "What? No! Bellamy and I are just…"

"Friends don't molest each other during movie night," Octavia interrupted.

Clarke kicked her under the table. "It's not like that. I'm not sure what it is."

They waited, and she crumbled.

"I mean, Bellamy initiated it. But I asked him to keep going. And it kind of spiraled out of control from there."

Raven slapped Octavia's arm, open-mouthed, amazed. Clarke groaned.

"It doesn't seem like he wants to touch me, and yet he does. I don't know if I'm…forcing it on him. But then the other night, it felt more like a competition. On the other hand, when we went clubbing, he's the one who asked me to stay, and the dance got a little—"

"Ahbababa!" Octavia covered her ears. "Not too graphic please."

Clarke nodded, her mind too jumbled to laugh, her heart too disorientated. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Clarke there's a basic question you're just too afraid to answer," Raven said seriously.

Octavia poured her another cup of coffee.

"Do you or don't you like Bellamy?"

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy was beyond confused.

At first he thought it might have been a hormonal thing, but he knew Clarke, all of her, and this was new territory.

Was this her way of asking for sex?

Because he wasn't sure he could go through with it, knowing it would be a one-time thing. That he'd have to see her in his head every night after that, his to love, his to hold, while she moved on.

He knew Clarke had her flings, and obviously, he did too—he just never pictured her being one of them.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Vegas…" Clarke repeated.

"This weekend."

"Okay, well some of us have jobs, Jasper," Bellamy muttered.

"Some of us also own our very own business and can afford one weekend if need be." Monty pointedly glared at the two of them.

"You guys have been workaholics this past lifetime. Come on," Jasper pleaded.

The others nodded. Bellamy and Clarke were known for their bad work habits. If Clarke had a serious case, she wouldn't be seen for weeks. If Bellamy was in a mood, we wouldn't come out of his garage. It could get pretty bad.

"Okay…but, tickets?" Clarke tried.

Jasper smirked, smacking his pocket. "Got 'em."

Clarke glanced at Bellamy, the only other adult in the room, apparently. He met her gaze, then gave an imperceptible shrug.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Fine."

* * *

OoO

* * *

"So are the others just meeting us at the airport or…?" Clarke wondered as they pulled up to the drop off area.

"The others?" Jasper asked in a high voice. A high, suspicious voice.

"Yeah. The gang."

"Oh see," he said, turning off the car, avoiding Clarke and Bellamy's stern gazes, "turns out the rest of us can't go…"

What the fuck.

"The hell? What do you mean?" Bellamy hissed from the backseat.

"Sorry. But we all agreed you two needed a break the most, so we pitched in and bought you tickets for a vacation at the Strip."

"Don't try to turn it around and make it sound like a fucking gift, Jasper."

"I'm sorry. But no one else can go. Honest. Are you really going to waste your days off and all this money?"

Clarke glared at Jasper, then back at Bellamy.

His temple throbbed like it did when he tried to think through his anger.

He worked his jaw, then his eyes trailed to hers.

A question. An open question.

Clarke pressed her lips together. A freaking vacation alone in a suite with Bellamy Blake. She was going to die.

"Give me the fucking tickets, Jasper."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Clarke was hell-bent on getting a window seat. Unfortunately, Bellamy seized the last one.

"Are you serious? You know how much I love the window seat," she pouted.

"Tough, Princess."

"Bellamy…"

She glanced around the rest of the airplane, but seats were filling up quickly, and all of her asshole friends were absent. Was it weird to sit with someone else?

He sighed, standing up and moving aside for her. A real life superhero.

"Thank you."

She didn't know why she did it—overcome with gratitude, possessed by the relief of not having to sit next to a stranger—but she leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. Only, she missed slightly, and she got the corner of his mouth. Felt the curve of his lips. The slight scratch of his chin.

Bellamy didn't register the action, but he also didn't look at her when he sat back down.

Clarke cursed at herself for having no self control whatsoever.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Clarke had worked extra hours last night to make up for her absence this weekend, so her exhaustion made the plane ride a fucking blast.

She tried leaning her head against the window, but it was vibrating, and it gave her a headache. After shifting around a ton, Bellamy cleared his throat.

"Can you pick a fucking position already?"

She chuckled. "No. The window seat sucks."

He laughed under his breath. "Then you can sleep on my shoulder…if you want."

The uncertainty was present, and it sent daggers in her chest. The awkwardness was still there, not blatant, but present, under the surface. Waiting to strike. She hated it.

Clarke wasn't sure she could sleep against him without going ballistic. Every time they made contact, her body couldn't be trusted. His touch did things to her she did not approve of. And he _knew_ that.

She flicked her gaze in his direction, and his expression stood somewhere between highly amused and slightly afraid.

"I might drool on you," she warned.

"I know."

Cautiously, she drew down the armrest between them, allowing her to scoot closer. She took the liberty of stealing his blanket and spreading it over the both of them, then snuggling up against his right side.

She set her head on his shoulder, surprised at how comfortable such an awkward position could be.

Bellamy sighed, letting his temple graze the top of her head.

She felt strange still, only touching at one point. She felt disconnected.

Stealthily, she slid her hand under the blanket to his forearm, down to his hand, ghosting over his fingers. He was quick to accept her hand, and he linked their fingers, squeezing once.

She smiled.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Jesus, Clarke," Bellamy complained. "How much did you bring?"

She glared at him over her stack of bags. It really wasn't that much.

"Enough."

He scoffed as he hoisted her bag over his shoulder and swiped the key to their door.

They shuffled inside, eager to see what room they'd been given. Jasper had called in a reservation at some fancy ass hotel. Clarke was praying for a Jacuzzi.

They stared at the suite. Or more specifically, at the single bed in the middle of the room.

Clarke dropped her bags.

It was okay. They were adults. They could handle it.

Neither of them moved an inch, and she caught Bellamy's sideways glance.

"Pool?" she offered.

He nodded, and they both avoided the bedroom area as they hurried to change.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Bellamy watched Clarke struggle with her sunscreen.

The stubborn shit wasn't going to ask him to help her. Not after…everything.

But wasn't it pervy of him to rub her back with lotion? Or was it the duty of a best friend?

He sort of missed the days when she hated his guts, and he could tease her and check her out without feeling guilty.

"Do you need some help with that?"

The male voice slapped Bellamy back to the present. A man stood at the edge of Clarke's recliner, eyebrow quirked.

Gross. Was that a thing? Walking up to women and asking them if they need help with sunscreen? If someone did that to Octavia Bellamy would rip their balls out.

Clarke flushed, then glanced back at Bellamy.

It was a question. A silent, curious test.

And Bellamy would answer, if the coiling jealousy in his stomach was anything to go by.

"I got this, man, thanks," he said as nonchalantly as possible.

The man grinned and backed away awkwardly.

Clarke watched carefully as Bellamy strode toward her, sitting down next to her on the lounger. "Turn," he instructed, snatching the sunscreen out of her hands.

She did as she was told, pulling her hair around to the front of her body. Missing a few strands.

Bellamy gently draped the strays over her shoulder, grazing her neck with his knuckles.

He squirted an ass ton of sunscreen on his hands and swore under his breath. He was used to his own body, not Clarke's. He sighed, rubbing his hands together to warm up the excessive amount of lotion.

Swallowing, he placed his hands on her back. She jolted slightly, then bent her head, ready.

Bellamy slid his hands up to her shoulder blades, back down to her lower back. The thick-strapped bikini got in the fucking way.

"Want me to—"

She nodded.

He smirked and slid his hands under the straps, gliding along her skin. She was so soft and warm and fuck, what was he doing?

He rubbed it in the best he could without getting any more turned on than he already was. Then he snapped the strap back into place, just to kill the tension. She yelped, swatting at him, and he laughed.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"I'm not swimming, Clarke."

"I know."

He lowered his book, watching her approach him, dripping wet.

"Then get the fuck away from me," he said, realizing her intentions.

She grinned, and just as he moved to get up, to get away, she pinned him to the lawn chair. Her wet hair dripped onto his chest and he frowned up at her.

"Don't you fucking dare, Clarke."

She grinned that mischievous smile and lowered herself on top of him, chin resting on her hands over his chest like a demon.

The cold sank into him, her wet skin pressed against his.

He winced.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"You're warm," she observed thoughtfully, snuggling closer, spreading her hands out over his chest.

He _had_ been.

"You're heavy and cold and I hate you," he hissed. She trembled, laughing. He could feel everything when she moved like that, and he was forced to use all his self control not to _show_ it.

Shit, he probably deserved this, didn't he?

When he looked down at her, she was watching him, thoughtful, curious, and he matched her intensity. There were specks of water on her cheeks, like freckles, and she looked so goddamn beautiful. He couldn't stop his hand from brushing away a piece of wet hair behind her ear.

That's when her smile faded, and she blinked, turning away like she was flustered.

Bellamy watched her walk off to grab them some martinis, missing the curves of her body pressed flush against him. Missing her skin. Her smell.

But most of all, missing their normalcy.

* * *

OoO

* * *

After the pool incident, the only way Clarke was getting through this trip was alcohol.

Lots of alcohol.

She'd been in a flirty mood, expecting him to flirt back, to challenge her like that night on the couch. But instead he'd had this look in his eyes like...like this wasn't just a game to him, as if Clarke was something special, something different. She couldn't allow herself to believe that. She couldn't fool herself into hoping that Bellamy actually...

She downed another shot, and her company glanced at her warily.

"Are you...good?"

"I'm excellent."

"Maybe you should slow it down—"

"Bellamy, I'm in Vegas. What's the point if I don't get wasted?"

He nodded silently, frowning.

"Don't hold back just because I'm drinking!" she thought suddenly. "I expect you to be my drunk buddy, Bell. Not my chaperone." Her eyes roamed the casino, landing on a table and a familiar array of cards. She seized Bellamy's wrist. "Play Jack Black with me."

"I think you mean Blackjack."

"That's what I said."

Bellamy rolled his eyes but didn't protest as she dragged him over to the table.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"We're rich, bitches!"

"Clarke, we won like five dollars. And we spent five times that much on drinks."

She laughed, waltzing down the hallway.

"You're not drunk enough, Bellamy."

"I didn't want you running off getting a tattoo. Or getting married to some random guy."

"Ugh, you're a life ruiner."

He rolled his eyes again. "Okay, Princess, are you through?"

She yanked the door open dramatically.

"Through."

They strode inside the room and paused at the sight of the bed. Clarke glanced at him, then sat down on the floor with her back to the mattress.

Bellamy stared at her, but he decided he had nothing else to do but join her on the carpet.

"Fuck. I drank way too much," she admitted.

"I thought that was the point."

"The _point_ is stupid."

Bellamy grinned as Clarke curled into herself, already feeling the effects of post-buzz exhaustion. He wasn't sober by any means, but he hadn't wanted to lose Clarke in a crowd, so he'd measured his intake. He wasn't worried about Clarke's capability. He was more concerned that the pool guy would show up again and Clarke would leave with him for the night.

"Bellamy?" she whispered, head in her knees. He waited. "I'm glad we came."

He smiled, leaning his head back against the bed. When he looked over at her, she was breathing softly. Asleep.

Bellamy rolled his eyes.

He locked his arm beneath her legs and the other around her torso, picking her up bridal style.

Slowly, he carried her to the mattress—the right side, her favorite—and set her down carefully. Blond locks splayed out over his bedspread, and heat shot through his nervous system.

He rolled her—the fucking deep sleeper—into a more comfortable position. As he began to pull away, something snatched his collar.

Clarke's hand fisted his shirt, and he glared down at her closed eyes.

"Clarke?"

She pulled him closer, and he slipped forward over her, cursing silently.

She blinked lazily at him, probably still half-asleep. But coherent enough to urge him closer.

What. What was this?

An invitation to stay?

He allowed her to pull him down over her, until their faces were practically touching.

Then her hand moved from his shirt to his neck, and she hugged him softly, tiredly, fondly.

Bellamy couldn't resist her.

Accepting, he buried his face into her hair and slipped his arm between her back and the mattress.

Their body warmth together was blistering.

His heart jumped sporadically in his chest, concerned about where this was leading.

But Clarke merely snuggled into him, holding tightly.

After a moment of neither of them moving, he brought himself fully up onto the mattress, rolling them on their sides. Her legs intertwined with his like it was instinctual, and his hands rested under her shirt, against her rib cage, while hers found his neck, his hair, and she sighed happily into the nook of his shoulder.

Clarke hummed, and he knew she wasn't asleep, maybe just drunk enough to make her delirious. The thought of her drunkenly pursuing him felt rotten, and he was about to pull away when she placed a soft kiss at his jawline. He sucked in, surprise stealing his breath. She trailed up his jaw to his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

"How drunk are you on a scale from one to ten?" he whispered, and she chuckled, leaning closer.

"Enough to finally do what I should have done two years ago," she reasoned as her lips hovered over his. His eyes expanded, and he was about to press her further, but then she kissed him, hot and wet and stubborn.

Bellamy's right hand cradled the back of her head so he could deepen the kiss, his left meandering up her shirt, pausing just below her bra strap.

He wanted her so badly.

But not like this. Not with so much confusion churning in his head. The fear of heartbreak around the corner.

He tensed, pulling away before he could stop himself.

"Clarke, listen…" he breathed shakily. He had to get it out. He had to preserve what they had. "I need to know what you want from me…"

Her hold slackened, and the warmth drained from their embrace.

Finally, she opened her eyes, orbs of blue heat.

They were swimming with tears.

"Clarke?"

She twisted away, and he broke.

"Hey," he pleaded, but she was already sitting up, bouncing up off the bed. Fumbling. Shaking. "Come on, Clarke, just…talk to me."

She paused, turning back.

"I don't know _how_ to anymore," she confessed.


	5. Regret

She saw his face every time she closed her eyes. The confusion and helplessness.

The sorrow.

She hadn't seen him since she'd packed up her things and left that night, but his presence had only magnified. And so had her love for him.

She'd gotten drunk enough to act on her feelings, but he'd thought she'd just wanted sex.

That she just _wanted_ something from him.

And that was so typical of Bellamy. To deliver. To appeal to her needs and wants without ever stating his own.

It was so obvious now that Bellamy had never seen her in a romantic light. He'd been teasing her, testing the waters. And she'd teased him back, because that's as close as she could get without hurting him.

Her heartbreak was her own damned fault.

* * *

OoO

* * *

It was when her car broke down that she was faced with a decision.

Face her fucking fears and confront Bellamy or go to a new repair shop and lose all of her paycheck.

The coward she was, she probably would have paid all of her life savings to avoid seeing him. But her car was literally spitting up oil, so she coasted it to the closest place she could.

Bellamy's garage.

Monroe and a few other workers waved to her as she parked the car—Clarke often stopped by with donuts just to piss Bellamy off by spoiling all his employees.

She sobered, thinking of the man she would have to face as she sauntered for the office.

What would she even say? She knew she should apologize, but she didn't want to bring it up. She wanted to forget everything that happened that day in Vegas. Bellamy's hands on her back. Bellamy's eyes as he looked at her like she was the world. Bellamy's kiss.

She was almost there when the door opened, and a woman laughed, glancing back at Bellamy.

"Friday then. At six?"

Clarke could hear him murmur something—probably fucking stupid—and this brunette laughed again.

"Okay. I'll see you then."

She smiled at Clarke as she walked past, shaking her head to herself, like she couldn't believe she had a date with such a nerd.

Clarke felt glued to the floor. Glued right here in the hallway, between space and time.

She'd known that Bellamy didn't feel anything toward her, but it still burned, how fast he was able to recover. Clarke wasn't sure she could ever open her heart up again. She wasn't even sure the organ was still beating.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

Bellamy's smile slid off his face so fast she almost bolted.

They stared at each other for too long, walls up, cannons ready. Until Bellamy cleared his throat and glanced away.

"What are you doing here, Clarke?"

The disdain in his voice—curbed, yet detectable—made Clarke wince. This wasn't going well. She didn't know what she'd expected, but not this reserved coldness.

"ALIE's bleeding out," she explained, glancing out the window at her car. They'd named her problematic vehicle after the computer virus that ate up her thesis senior year. _How's ALIE_? he'd always ask. And Clarke would proceed to tell him how fucked up her car was.

"When was the last time you had an oil change?"

Straight to the point, then.

"You," she shrugged.

"Replaced your belts?"

"You."

"Had your tires—"

"Bellamy, you know the answer. I come here all the time," she snapped.

He wasn't even _looking_ at her.

"Alright. I'll take of it," he said, and he stood, making his way to the door, brushing past her like she didn't exist.

"I can pay..."

"I'm not going to take away your discount," he said, like he couldn't believe she thought he'd be so shallow.

"So that's it?" she whispered, and he paused in the hallway. She could feel the hatred coming off of him in waves, and it almost made her cry.

"What do you want me to say, Clarke?" he muttered. He finally turned his heated gaze on her, and she wished he hadn't. It burned her raw. "That I'm not upset that you ditched me in Vegas? That I'm not mad you haven't returned any of my phone calls for the past two weeks and pointedly avoided me at any cost? Until you _needed_ me, that is."

She gaped at him, fumbling for words, for an apology.

Someone honked outside, and they both glanced at the window. A line of cars had already formed. Apparently, Bellamy was doing well.

"Clarke, what do you want?" he asked impatiently.

Something in her shattered. Maybe it was her guilt. Maybe it was her sorrow. Whatever it was, it gave way to rage.

"How about my friend Bellamy back, not asshole Boris?" she demanded. She'd nicknamed his dark, arrogant side a while back, realizing it was his defense mechanism, not his true personality. "You're being shitty right now. Why can't you just be...normal? Why can't we go back to being normal?"

"You don't always get what you want, Princess."

She flinched, and Bellamy's eyes softened for a moment, as if realizing he'd gone too far.

Then he shook his head and left her in his empty office.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"You done fucked up, Clarke."

She snapped her head up at Jasper, the charcoal pencil snapping in her hand. Again.

Dammit.

 _"What?"_

"You. Bellamy. You two have the best communication in the world until it comes to your own blatant feelings."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Bellamy's _feelings_? The nonexistent kind?

"All you had to do was say those three magic words and none of this would have happened. Now Bellamy thinks you just wanted to use him."

She gaped. "I never said—"

"Exactly, Clarke. You never said anything. And you know what? I think that's much worse than having said how you feel and risking rejection." He got up from the couch, snatching his keys and his to-go box. "I might have lost Maya, but at least I got to spend that marginal amount of time with her. It was worth it."

Clarke's eyes prickled with tears. Jasper had lost his girlfriend to breast cancer last year. She'd never seen him so happy as when he was with her, or so lost as when she was taken. He rarely spoke of her now, and it made Clarke curl into herself to hear him say her name. It meant that he was serious. And a serious Jasper was a scary thing.

"Do yourself a favor, Clarke, and stop shielding him from might's and maybe's. You both deserve to be happy."

He left with that, and she stared down at her drawing. The freckles. The arrogant, loving grin. Even when she tried not to think about him, he crept up on her thoughts.

Clarke sighed, pushing the sketch away. Jasper was right, of course. She did fuck up. All because she was terrified of the way she felt inside. And Bellamy, he'd only ever been a friend to her. He never initiated anything. Not really. It was always her, pushing boundaries, her, wanting more. He even offered to be her fake fiance!

Clarke paled, thinking of Finn. Of how he'd wormed his way into her life, and then just as abruptly, left it.

Just as Clarke had left Bellamy.

In a sea of miscommunication and heartbreak.

* * *

OoO

* * *

She shivered in the rain, her hand resting on the door for over five minutes as she listed all the terrible things that could go wrong.

Finally, she found the courage to knock. She _had_ to set things right.

A minute later, the door opened, and he was standing there wearing the T-shirt she'd bought him for Christmas. His smile faded.

"What are—"

"I shouldn't have left you in Vegas," she whispered helplessly.

He stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her statement. She watched as their group of friends trickled out of the kitchen, eyebrows high on their foreheads.

"It's fine. It's probably for the best that we quit when we did, right?" He swallowed, and the muscle in his temple tensed, like it always did when he was thinking about something uncomfortable. "Besides. It's my fault. I should never have kissed you," he said finally, and it sent shards of pain through her chest.

"You…regret it?" she voiced, eyes watering again.

Bellamy watched her, shaking his head slowly. "No."

She bit her cheek, flushing. _What was that supposed to mean?_

"I'm not…I was never acting this way to…to get something from you."

His face adopted a confused and slightly scared expression.

"To be honest, it just felt _right_. It felt good to be with you, intimate. And I didn't realize I was toying with your emotions. Or…mine."

Rain pummeled the ground behind her, flooding the streets, raging through gutters.

"Clarke."

"And now I'm really terrified, because I think…I think I might be falling for you, or maybe I've been falling for you all this time, and now it's starting to finally take shape and it scares me," she couldn't meet his eyes. "I kept pushing my feelings away, because I don't want to repeat the past. But every time I saw you, I gave in to this…this need to be _closer_ , so I let you think whatever you wanted to think. As long as I could be with you without losing you in the end. Even though I did, lose you," she swallowed the pain. She was rambling. "I know now you were just in it for a hookup but I had to get it off my chest..."

His eyes blinked rapidly a few times, and a warm, fond smile blossomed on his face. It was enough to cut off her rant and any coherent thoughts.

Taking her hand, he pulled her inside out of the rain, and sat her down on the couch. He didn't seem to mind that she was soaking wet.

"Clarke," he said, and the sound of her name on his lips warmed the chill in her bones. Bellamy tilted his head at her, peering into her eyes like he couldn't believe how stupid she was. "I've been in love with you since I met you," he said softly, and she lost feeling in her tongue. "Well…since you defended me like your life depended on it, not mine."

She thought back to the trial, the accusations of murder. Bellamy had given up when he'd seen no way out. He'd succumbed to his fate. But Clarke had kept pushing, if only for Octavia's sake. If only for justice. And maybe, just a little for Bellamy.

"You fought so hard for my case. And you told me then that we'd figure something out. That you needed me to believe in you," he recalled. "And I did. I still do."

She sniffed, unbelieving.

"Clarke, I love you more than I've loved anything in my life, and this was never about sex, okay?" His brown eyes swam with so much feeling, Clarke was breathless. "I wanted to be with you, in any way I could. And I guess…I guess I couldn't keep hiding it anymore. I couldn't keep…pretending."

Clarke just stared, trying to compute.

She'd known Bellamy had cared about her. But…he loved her. He was in love with her. With her. With Clarke.

All those touches hadn't _had_ intentions. All those kisses weren't foreplay or teasing.

They were leaks in his mask.

Just like hers.

"Clarke?"

She blinked, and a tear fell stupidly.

She'd been so stupid, thinking Bellamy would break her heart.

Bellamy had been protecting her heart from the very beginning.

She took his face in her hands, holding him softly and firmly. He waited—he was always waiting, always had been—as she pressed her lips to his.

Bellamy was quick to respond, and his warm hands found the back of her neck, her waist. Right where they belonged.

He tasted of popcorn and spearmint toothpaste, and she melted like ice on pavement, pooling against him, running through his fingers and down. The last time they'd kissed like this, it had been good, but forced. Fake, in a way.

Now the truth was out there, and suddenly, knowing that he loved her back so deeply made every touch and graze like fire.

"Clarke, are you sure this is…what you want?" he breathed into her cheek. "Knowing me…I'll probably fuck this up."

She chuckled into another kiss, her fingers twined in his hair.

"Bellamy," she breathed, and he followed her lips. " _Don't stop."_

He smiled against her mouth, and he twirled them over on the sofa, eliciting giggles from her parted mouth.

Clarke thought she could hear cheers down the hall, but she wasn't sure. She figured she could thank them later.

* * *

OoO

* * *

Six months later they were engaged for real.

But the gang had long decided the two were already married.

* * *

 **Yay! The end.**

 **Sorry the last chapter was kind of rushed. I just have too many other things going on, AND STORIES.**

 **I'm working on another Bellarke fic, a longer one right now. I think it delves into a lot more detail and isn't so...lazy.**

 **Anyway, if you like what you see, check out my other Bellarke fics!**

 **Thanks for the awesome feedback!**


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